Shuttle from Hungary

After packing through what would be my night (around 11:30pm to 3:30am), I expected that I would be done with talking in Hungarian. I was wrong. At about 4:00am, my phone rings.

- [illegible Hungarian informing me that my shuttle has arrived]

- Umm, do you speak English?

- Nem értem.

- Umm, ok, öt perc.

- Nem tudok várni.

- Ok... megyek.

The driver, of course, spoke English and could well understand me. And when he told me that he was waiting for me 20 minutes with two passengers, I took it as nothing more than a throw of blame. It's the usual trick: if I'm going to yell at you, I will make it as bad as possible. I'm going to wait as long as I can, I'm going to talk to you in a language that you don't understand... oh, you do understand. Oh well. What he couldn't do was drive away: worrying, angering, and yelling are stimulating, and therefore more enjoyable than any protocol.

I could have yelled back at him, but I was tired. His viewpoint was apparently that I should wait outside for an indeterminate amount of time (since he never called to confirm the time) at 3am in -15 C.

You are probably thinking: of course it's my fault. Sorry. There was no reason why he would wait 20 minutes before picking up his cell phone, except to yell at me. There was no reason why he would expect me outside in the first place. He hasn't confirmed the call, and I was in fact waiting for him to announce that he was at the door, or better, on his way. No, it's just what we are cultured to do: stand witness and count every minute that the driver be late, and nail him in case he doesn't show up, or shows up at the wrong time. I was there and my friend was there; we saw everything and heard everything.

Tossed lecture notes

Number theorist E. Kowalski supposedly found 40 pages of typewritten lecture notes on 3-manifold topology. He posted the first page on his blog, and it has quickly been reposted on the blog Low Dimensional Topology. (I'm subscribed to both.)

I thought I'd spread the news just for fun, and because my math-themed blog needs some math once in a while.

Call me quietly by my name - Translation

I don't like this translation because I'm changing the words a lot. This song is difficult to translate because of the steady rhythm. I'll upload another version, maybe.

Won't you call my name quietly, call my name?
From a breaking spring.. won't you water me?
Will the heart call back, answering, boundless,
And silly and tender and storyless?
Dusk again walks in through the door, sleepless.
Again is obscure glass in my windows.
Out there nod the currant and lilac trees:
Won't you call me up, my quiet Rodina?

Won't you call my name... on the eve of day;
Won't you call my name; grief and longing mine,
Won't you call my name?

Won't you call my name... on the eve of day;
Won't you call my name; grief and longing mine,
Won't you call my name?

I know, will come to be our reunion.
Too much time has passed by since we said good bye.
The blue crescent is hiding behind the town.
There's no need to be sad, there's no want to cry.
Are those bells that are echoing far away?
Have we just ridden by, ridden by with you:
Everywhere raised dust, everywhere made tracks,
Didn't even make out the road under us?

Won't you call my name... on the eve of day;
Won't you call my name; grief and longing mine,
Won't you call my name?

Won't you call my name... on the eve of day;
Won't you call my name; grief and longing mine,
Won't you call my name?

Won't you call my name quietly, call my name?
From a breaking spring.. won't you water me?
I know, will come to be our reunion.
And I will return, this promise I will keep....

A Day of the Lonely Frog

A poem in three parts, each different in rhythm, meter, and (most importantly) tempo, from the other.

 

*** I ***

Drop. Drop. Drop.

. . .

Crrrroooaaack.

. . .

Drop. Drop. Drop.

And thus begins first light.
The frog is waking slowly
And listening to music:
The waking of the forest,
As black fog turns to white.

It's now early morning.
The animals are talking:
The rabbits to the squirrels,
The mice inside the log...
The owls to the foxes,
The pidgeons to the sparrows,
The trout to the salmon;
But no one to the frog.

They talk about weather
And all the pain it brought them.
They talk about how
The bears of the North
Are dying all around
As glacier ice is melting
Because the wild climate
Is shifting back and forth.

They talk about forests
Where trees are disappearing,
And animals are dying
In fires far and wide,
And how they are lucky
To live in such a forest
Where always they may flourish,
Their future always bright.

They also talk about
The state of present morning,
And they complain about
The rain that went by dawn,
And how it is distracting
When from the leaves all over
The water drops are dripping
And ringing, on and on.

And how the little green thing
Is crazy and is weird,
And probably bipolar...
Why doesn't it come up
From down beneath the leaflets
And chat with forest creatures,
The mice, and owls, and foxes,
If just to say: Wazzup!

How strange: one simple morning
It came to them and something,
And for some weird reason
It never came again,
Because it's antisocial
And actually a stalker,
Though probably no longer
Since times are not the same.

Oh, lets all sign together
And celebrate the morning,
(Though it is almost daytime...
We celebrate the day!)
In our fruitful country
That knows no fire or famine,
May we forever prosper,
May we forever stay!

 

*** II ***

Crrrroooaaack.

Drop.

The nights are growing longer every day.
It will be autumn soon, and winter after.
The snow will fall, the birds will fly away.
The woods will quiet down and hush thereafter.

No longer will the harvest mice come out
Of their warm dens, no longer will they chatter.
Green fields will turn to white, and then again
Survival, food, and nothing else will matter.

And I will be alone as I am now.
Nothing to talk to, but the drops of water...
The happy rain! When droplets break on pond
Or hail on ice, they sing and I respond.

There once were days when pidgeons talked to me,
But no bird will call me any longer.
I am to them the shadow of a tree
That fell by wind, a memory too somber.

And they care not for how I feel. In fact,
They do not even care for each other.
They know each other's names and nothing more.
They don't make lasting bonds with one another.

Whenever they converse they always judge
How Northlands are corrupt, and Greenwood pretty,
Just to complain, never to prove a fact;
While they, themselves, are dirty as a city.

What if they stop complaining about life,
But rather look around and make theirs better?
What if they look for friends, ones who are real...
Forget the former! Care for the latter.

No, they will not, their happyness, though false,
Will feed their egos 'till cold Winter falls.
And no matter what my life may be,
I'll never talk to them, nor they to me.

 

*** III ***

Night has fallen, moon has risen
Stars shine brightly in the water.
There is temperance in the forest
Toward nothing.

Sits our froggy on a leaflet,
Trying to decide the future.
Great eyes gaze across the marshes,
Seeing nothing.

Trees are dry, no droplets dripping,
Nothing to cheer up our creature,
Who just want to be more social.
Simply nothing.

. . .

Crrrroooaaack.

. . .

Crrrroooaaack.

. . .

. . .

Birches (Translation)

Not sure from where, from whom, or what this group is, but here's a nice music video and my translation.

[[It is 17:00 in Moscow.

The group Ljube says hello to the precinct officer from the village Anisovka, senior lieutenant Kravtsov, wishes him good luck in his not-easy work and performs his favorite song.]]

Of what cause do in Russia the birches sound so?
Of what cause do white-stump'd understand every matter?
By the roads, leaned along with the wind they would stand
And the leaves they would sadly surrender.

I will follow the road, I am happy with space,
Maybe this will be all that I learn in my lifetime.
Of what cause do the unhappy flowers fall down,
The soul under my shirt calming down?

On my heart it is hot, and again it is hot.
And again, and again, with no answer.
And the leaf from the birch on my shoulder just fell,
It, like I, tore away from the branches.

We will sit for the road, my darling, with you,
Understand, I'll be back, do not weep, there's no need to.
The old lady will wave her hand to me good bye,
And the gate, behind me, will be closed.

Of what cause do in Russia the birches sound so?
Of what cause is so well my accordion playing?
Like the wind, fingers will pass the keys in a flash,
But the last one, ahh, just sinks down...

On my heart it is hot, and again it is hot.
And again, and again, with no answer.
And the leaf from the birch on my shoulder just fell,
It, like I, tore away from the branches.

On my heart it is hot, and again it is hot.
And again, and again, with no answer.
And the leaf from the birch on my shoulder just fell,
It, like I, tore away from the branches.

Prediction

(A poem that I wrote today because I was bored. Unusually easy, considering that the metering was new for me.)

The sun will shine tomorrow
And overcast on Friday,
But what about friendships,
How will they be decided?

When I come back for Winter,
Whom will I meet embracing,
And who will stand beside me,
But oppositely facing?

For when the nest is bustling,
New social strands created,
Then dormant threads are broken
As less and less they're weighted.

And when a group of people,
Already so misguided,
Spread that idea to others,
They'll also come decided,

Determined to partition
From me and those few others
Who would remain beside me,
Who would remain my brothers.

And more of the rebellers,
Though none at fault for thinking,
Will join and join together
And push us from the linking.

And we will have to exile;
The nest for us will vanish
For our great disappointment,
Neigh one who dares banish.

But hopefully will strong be
Our ties to one another,
That dozens disappearing
Won't part, but join us rather.

And hopefully we will not
Regret much of our leaving
That we'll be strong together,
In others not believing.

And You, season not passed us,
May you stay with me always,
For you don't know the people
Who gossip in the hallways.

Translation

Here is a second draft of a translation into English of a Russian poem: "Ballade of a smoke-filled carriage" ("Баллада о прокуренном вагоне") by Alexander Kochetkov, 1935. The original is best enjoyed with soundtrack from the Russian movie Irony of Destiny where the poem appears.

As for the translation, I tried to keep the rhythm and choice of words to the best of my ability. I did not preserve the rhyme.

How painful, dear, it is, how awkward,
Rooted in earth, entwined in branches;
How painful, dear, it is, how awkward,
To split in two beneath a saw.
My injured heart will not recover,
But empty out in purest tears;
My injured heart will not recover,
But empty out in flaming sap.

Long as I live, I will be with you:
Spirit and blood cannot be parted;
Long as I live, I will be with you
For love and death exist beside.
You will bear with yourself, my loved one,
You will bear with you everywhere,
You will bear with you everywhere
Your dear house, your cherished land.

But what if I have nothing with me
To shield me from unhealing sorrow;
But what if I have nothing with me
To shield from darkness and from cold?
There is reunion after parting;
Do not forget of me, my loved one;
There is reunion after parting;
We will come back, both, you and I.

And if, without a trace, I vanish;
Too short be light of daylight falling;
And if, without a trace, I vanish
Beyond the stars, galactic dust?
Then I will pray for you, my loved one,
That the celestial path will guide you;
Then I will pray for you, my loved one,
That you come back, come home unharmed.

Thrashed up inside a smoke-filled carriage,
He turned to homeless and humble;
Thrashed up inside a smoke-filled carriage,
He was half-crying, half-asleep,
And on one downgrade, sharply turning,
The cars rolled terribly and twisted;
And on one downgrade, sharply turning,
The train ripped wheels up from wet tracks...

Unhuman and unyielding power,
In one amass all living cripling;
Unhuman and unyielding power
Tossed out the earthly from the earth.
And no being was protected
By the long-promised reuniting,
And no being was protected
By hands that beckoned from afar.

Not for a moment part with loved ones,
Not for a moment part with loved ones,
Not for a moment part with loved ones,
With all your blood grow into them;
And always say farewell forever,
And always say farewell forever,
And always say farewell forever
When for a second you must leave!

Cipher challenge

Here is a challenge: decipher the following:

In pie su pase lusu sai pase lusu ilu
Shangamei goea ile ou rieae ail
In pie su leo ila sai leo ila ilu
Shangamei goea ile ou poala

Nilgae rasai su sai peo punilue
Pui esu riu sea sai goala
En teu lucaea eu silocoil guse
Su asu seicue osis eolu loca arilu ereu seoil

Ca oceca lou shi gaeo eoge coil
Shangamei sil gus ea cuesila
Puse arasea sai ileo sili sane
Sil guea ilie lususilelei gaea

Ca oceca lou shi gaeo eoge coil
Shangamei sil gusea cuesila
Puse ariea sai ileo egesila
Lucoari silea gaeo coge silo eoil

E-mail me with the answer; do not post it here. There may be a prize for the winner. (If I have shared keys with you in the recent past, you may not be eligible.)

Summer stretchers on the bus

Read slowly. Comprehend the repetition in prose.

I figured it out instantly. Two busees, sitting together and alone, definitely younger than anybody else, and the first day of stretch being today. Not summer challenge, that starts later. Summer stretch.

Two busees, definitely younger than anybody else. Boy and girl. The boy wasn't sitting still, moving around in his seat and talking to himself, it seems.

Definitely younger. I asked. "Are you in summer stretch?" Unusually immediate reply: "Yea."

Sitting together and alone. Boy and girl. The girl was more shy, listening to music on her iPhone. I didn't talk to her much. Too awkward.

Boy and girl. Not alone. Their mother, maybe, was in the seat in front. I saw them again, all three, on the ride back. Same bus back. Monday. Two busees. Sitting together and alone. Definitely younger.

Calculus homework in the 21st century

In the early 20th century, a student studying mathematical analysis (calculus) in college would probably sit with paper and ink, computing a few dozen integrals. In the middle to late 20th century, mathematical software became available that was able to compute these integrals, and in the late 20th and early 21st century, this functionality became available to students in the form of TI-89 calculators. Still, though, high school teachers and college professors almost always required the students to "show their work", rendering the automated integration technique useful only as a way to check the answer.

This changed very recently with the release of Wolfram alpha. Here is an example of it doing integration for you, with both words and equations. One needs only to copy the text into LaTeX and turn it in. Impressive, huh?

Actually, while the functionality of the Wolfram Alpha search engine is indeed impressive, this is not the impressive part. Here's why. Software uses algorithms for numerical approximations when numerical computations are required, but algebraic manipulation is pattern matching, just like it is done on paper. To a first approximation, a computer solves an integration program just like we do. These algebraic computation systems have been developed for a long time, and the algorithms are accessible in full to someone who is willing to spend some time on it. All that is left is to print the steps.

To calculus teachers reading this: please don't deny students access to this resource. Just don't allow computers on exams.

A package from Hungary - not

On application, Budapest Semesters of Mathematics asked for six addressed labels, and then sent me a letter with the address handwritten, I wasn't sure what the labels are going to be used for.

Today, a rather curious package arrived in the mail. On the box was printed "Budapest Semesters in Mathematics, and a tiled design with a comical interpretation of state seals. A stamp read "Magyar border control 335 (210) Magyar Vizem 2001 Check Point". Another stamp: "2001 Budapest, 01.09/18 Ferihegy 1". I don't know where BSM got those stamps, but one thing is clear: the package was addressed from the North American Office, it did not arrive from Hungary.

Inside the box, a curious assortment of souveniers. A picture says it all.

Looks like a reminder: get the forms in ASAP. And do your math homework.

Post mortem midterme physica

It happens like this: you take a midterm with three problems on it, realize that you can only confidently answer one of them, somehow manage the second, realize at the last five minutes how to do the third (and have a little time left to start it). Then the bell rings, you turn in the test, and walk out of the classroom feeling this close to declaring a third major.

Well, what did I expect? I expected a Lagrangian problem, and there was a Lagrangian problem. I excepted a Frobenius method problem, and there was a Frobenius method problem. I didn't know what else to expect.

It was, of course, a solution of Laplace's equation with given boundary conditions. A Dirichlet problem. Something that was covered in math, and in Physics on the Friday before I left for Toronto (which I'll write about later). What's the problem? I left for Toronto, completely forgetting Friday's lecture on this exact same problem.

Somehow, I managed to remember the first few steps: separation of variables, boundary conditions; and then ran out of time.

Why I am feeling good about this test is to me a mystery.

In memoriam cultorum

No, I'm not being serious. Just a little angry. And yes, I will reappropriate the funds, though at the moment I will not say to what cause.

Two loops made of plastic, two pieces of steel,
Their future together, their lives intertwined,
Left last week abroad and will never return,
Left last week abroad and are now left behind.

For over a decade they were at my back,
For over a decade I held them close by,
I saved them from teachers, I lost them and found them,
Yet failed today - from an airport guy.

And was denied also for them a transport.
The couple's bright future was now deferred.
As if by misfortune they came on my way,
And I - to a place that consumed them away.

And as by misfortune they came at a time
When I could no longer nor could yet provide.
I know now, I have to look toward my future
To let survive others, whose lives come beside.

Then, find a good cause, you, unpaid mailing fees!
Help more than a pair of scissors to breathe!
This Autumn, this August, to Europe I fly
To find me new partners, new friends, a new life!

A gem inside the cube of ice

(I wrote this a while ago, experimenting with repeating lines.)

In my backyard there sits a cube of ice.
I move it not, disturb it not, and pray
There be a gem inside the cube of ice.

The frost upon it's surface is a vice.
The grass around the cube is dead and gray.
I wait, ice may sublime, so be my price.

The more I look at it, the less precise
The thought becomes, but still it does not sway:
There is a gem inside the cube of ice.

I hesitate to break or melt the ice,
For if I haste, much more will melt away!
I wait, ice may sublime, so be my price.

I think about it, yet seek no advice,
For though the cube looks terrible today,
There is a gem inside the cube of ice.
I wait. Ice may sublime. So be my price.

Not ready (or) What's next?

What did I feel that day when I returned
To that green house in the woods downstream
My friends, for whom not long ago I yearned,
Were there, and greeted me. As in a dream,
They've not foresaken threads weaved once together
And I was welcome once again there-in,
And all was good, as it at first had been.

But what? Be in my face that mud had splattered,
As if some pressure was released from down the drain.
I, being marked with some internal stain -
A curse, that witches of Macbeth have muttered,
Among my friends, was lonely once again.

Discouraged, worried for no reason from no cause,
Doubting that I'll come thither soon, I went away
Back then, in high school, what an introvert I was!
Now, once again I'm feeling happy on my own,
And know I've not become less like a stone.
My introverted self just did not sway.

I write these lines, and wary of my future,
Where will I fit in now, where can I stay
While having friends, and not to run away
From things unseen, unheard, and unimagined?
Can I come back to my old group of friends,
Who took me in so easily, so simply,
Without distancing myself and running thence
Because of ghosts that haunt the house and make minds tense?

I would come back, be not the ghosts inside.
I would play spades again, my friends beside.
But now, my companions are my texts,
And I am with them, wondering: what's next?

Back and just in time

I am back from Moses Lake where, to my surprise, the NCS team did not place first in MiC Masters. But that's not the point.

The point is, as I realized on the two-day-long trip, my end of spring quarter this quarter will not be any less busy then last quarter. The draft for the MATH 336 term paper is due this Friday, and the code for my CS project: a week from next Wednesday. This serves as a reminder: we're approaching the third-to-final week of Spring quarter. Ouch. No wonder I decided to take some recreational reading along on the trip: Bewersdorff's Galois Theory for Beginners.

I'm not complaining. I could have two research projects to do this quarter, that is, if I stayed in chem. I could have other honors stuff to do, that is, if I were taking an honors civ and not a "survey of linguistic method and theory." And, finally, I might actually have a chance at a 4.0 in physics if I do just as well on the next exam as on the first one.

What's coming? Studying in the library as before, but also typing up the paper and working on the CS project. Not sure how I will consolidate the two. Of course, regular weekly homeworks, inconveniently all due on Friday. No lunch, and you'll probably not see me this week except in class. (I'm exaggerating.)

1st week - followup

Today marks the end of week 1 of the experiment which I have started this Monday afternoon. I have spent two of my lunch breaks: Tuesday and Wednesday, in the math library and must say, the results are very satisfying. I started on my MATH 336 term paper and am progressing quickly through the project. Somehow I have managed to find time, and I should say, a significant amount of time, to do research.

In fact, I checked out two books today: an introduction to Galois theory and a heavy graduate text on elliptic curves. Both are relevant to my paper, as well as to the broader study of elliptic curves.

Finally, to all my friends who paged me in Google chat that Monday, to one who called me to ask what have been the problem, thank you for being there for me. Thank you.

I only wonder if anyone is reading my blog now that it has moved out of Facebook. Huh?

Notice

Dear students, faculty, and staff of UW Seattle,

I take no pleasure in summing up that the recent few weeks of events surrounding my immediate friends have been, in the least, highly disturbing. In the last two weeks, the social strain on me has become more and more unbearable. As much as I would hate to withdraw from my present social lifestyle, I currently see no plausible alternative. As a result, the following take effect immediately.

1. My primary (and only) Facebook account, is hereby deactivated until further notice. All Facebook communication channels are deactivated as a result. Also:
2. All instant messaging / chat interfaces are disabled.
3. I will no longer frequent the RC except when I deem it necessary.
4. My Facebook blog is moved to my public blog at http://itolkov.blogspot.com.
5. I am accessible by e-mail via all public aliases (@g, @u, and @cs) anytime.
6. If you would like to meet one-on-one, I will be on the second floor of the Math Research Library (PDL C306) from 11:30 to 12:15 every day except Fridays. I am completely open to meeting there.
7. All prescheduled meetings with other students are hereby canceled. The only exception is the meeting with CR and BM - you know who you are.

I would like to thank everybody who helped me out this year. I would especially like to thank the RC group for recognizing me and letting me in. It is unfortunate that my relationship with the RC community had to proceed this way. Please understand that I do not intend to disappear, and will be glad to resume contact. I hope that what I said about you is true and that I will see you all in the nearest future.

I've posted a copy of this message on my blog at http://itolkov.blogspot.com. I'd be glad to read your comments there (anonymous comments are turned ON). Bear in mind that I wouldn't see your comments to the copy of this message on Facebook.

A PGP-signed copy of this message can be found here: http://stu.../itolkov/temp/notice9511.zip

Nothing stated herein is intended to impact my academic performance at UW. THIS NOTICE IS PUBLIC.

Again, I hope to see or hear from you soon.

Best Regards,

Igor Tolkov
University of Washington, Acad 6.0

A light no more

A lighthouse shines afar atop a cliff.
Raschelle inside awaits the coming rain.
Inside the castle, though the walls are weak,
She sits, sure that together they'll sustain.

Clouds gather, heavy torrents, gusts of wind,
Bombard the wooden roof, and seep below.
In Rachel's fear, courage intervened,
Preparing for what weather may bestow.

And miles away, where showers came and went,
But never caused destruction in their way,
I saw the waining light and did lament:
"Raschelle, wherefore did run you hence, away?

"Why did you leave behind our sunny town,
Out for the abyss where two oceans meet,
Where, day or night, you could astray and drown,
And perish there amongst the fiery heat."

I cried this out, and saw the light no more,
The hurricane so strong, the lantern bent
And plummeted unto the rocky floor.
And all the structure in it's shadow went.

And you, Raschelle, there lie disdainly tossed,
From one sea to another 'till one take
The body of a life untimely lost
And bury it far down beneath the wake.

Soon will ascend the heavenly canoe
Yet no other light will shine so true,
Than yours, which flew away to raging seas
And there, amongst the waters, came to peace.